Ants are tiny and mischievous - they are adventurers, constantly exploring. At that size, everything is a journey. A simple staircase becomes a mountain, a dying tree transforms into a sanctuary, a cupboard into a hotel. Their thirst for exploration is endless, but it can be annoying as it leads them to places like my bed, my trashcan, or my bathroom.

Currently, a city of ants has taken over my bathroom...I've allowed them to build, tracking their progress with each visit; but, on days when my mood is foul, their punctilious activity drives my nerves into the ground.

Yesterday, I destroyed their home; I decimated it. I swiped the whole thing with my foot - weeks of tireless, grinding work obliterated in a matter of seconds. I probably killed upwards of fifty - tore apart families, sending young, innocent souls to their graves. I'm a monster.

They should be crying. They should be seeking revenge. They should hate me - but they don't. They're right back it; rebuilding in the exact same spot. Not one unkind word, not one dirty look.